


Sense of Wonder

by swankyturnip76



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Greg Lestrade, Curiosity, First Meetings, Greg Lestrade & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft Doesn't Look Like Mark G, Please don't post anywhere elseee, Prompt Fic, Sherlock's Past Drug Use is Mentioned, The Ship Isn't That Apparent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28944333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swankyturnip76/pseuds/swankyturnip76
Summary: Mycroft wonders why Detective Inspector Lestrade continuously brings Sherlock onto cases even though Lestrade's superiors warn him against it. Mycroft decides to meet with him and find out why.Possible explanation for when Mycroft and Greg first meet.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	Sense of Wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigorose50](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigorose50/gifts).



> Inspired by a prompt idea indigowallbreaker on tumblr sent me.

When they had been children, Sherlock had often attracted others to his side and briefly wooed them with his theatrical flair and ‘talents for observation’. However, all it took was an insult or an observation that was too keen for someone’s liking to turn them against Sherlock and to have him alone once more. He was self-destructive and when he wasn’t pushing people away, he was hurting his body with drug use. The cycle had continued for years and Mycroft had watched from afar, trying to keep Sherlock out of trouble and  _ safe  _ with little success. Sherlock’s biggest problem, Mycroft believed, was that he didn’t  _ want  _ to be healthy. He didn’t  _ want  _ to make genuine friends, he didn’t  _ want  _ to be vulnerable to others - he simply wanted  _ fans _ . Sherlock wanted attention and to have an ‘in’ with the police so he could get to continue showing off for others while solving crimes.

But then Captain John Watson entered the picture and things changed.

Mycroft understood the doctor’s fascination with Sherlock but what he didn’t understand was the unyielding sense of loyalty John consistently displayed towards his brother. Mycroft knew from bugging their flat how Sherlock treated John in the beginning and yet, despite all the on and off drug use, the insults, and the selfishness, the good doctor hadn’t left his brother’s side. John hadn’t abandoned Sherlock the way others had. John had  _ insisted  _ over and over, to Mycroft’s face even, that Sherlock  _ deserved  _ to be loved and that he would be there for him through it all.

It was mind boggling. 

Mycroft had run every background and reference check imaginable but no matter how hard he tried to find fault with the doctor, he came up empty. Doctor John Watson was not only a remarkable doctor and an excellent shot, but a genuinely good man who was a bit too in love with his brother for it to bring either of them any kind of joy in the end. Mycroft watched them from both afar and up close, saw the way John looked at his brother and the way his brother looked at John, and felt nothing but pity for them. Sherlock would wind up being the end of them both with his stubbornness and inability to  _ see _ . 

It was simply a matter of time.

The romantic and sexual tension between his brother and the doctor was thick enough to evaporate the Thames. If this was what it meant to be in love then Mycroft wanted no part of it. But still, he couldn’t help but check in on Sherlock’s other acquaintances and one stood out to him. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had been warned by his superiors several times against bringing Sherlock onto cases, and yet, despite his orders, the man had specifically broken protocol and called Sherlock in for help over and over again. It was only a matter of time before the Yard gave him his severance papers and sent him on his merry way...why did he continually risk his job for  _ Sherlock  _ of all people? On the surface, the inspector didn’t show romantic or sexual interest in Sherlock, didn’t receive any of Sherlock’s rare affections, and wound up getting in trouble more times than he could count. Mycroft knew the paperwork for this week alone must have been a nightmare with both Sherlock and one of the inspector’s team getting injured on the job.  _ Why  _ did Lestrade keep doing this?

Mycroft didn’t know. 

And he hated not knowing things.

\--- 

The long, black car that awaited Greg when he stepped out from the station looked somewhat menacing as he took a breath before climbing into the back. As he buckled his seat belt, he glanced at the woman sitting beside him.

“I guess you’re not my host, then?”

“An astute observation.” She didn’t look up from her phone. “I’m his secretary.”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he looked out the window instead of at her. “Is there any point in asking who he is?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” was her wistful reply.

Greg sighed and rested his head against the backseat. He was too old to be dealing with these school-age clues. He had wanted to clock out early tonight and retire home to watch the game after what had been an incredibly intense and stressful week of work, but an email from a government official addressed to him had delayed his plans. He had thought about pretending he hadn’t read the damn thing but, knowing the seal that had been attached to the email, there wouldn’t have been any point. __

_ Who watches the watchers?  _ he thought with a smirk as the car turned into one of the wealthiest parts of town. 

The email had invited him to dinner in order to discuss “events relating to work” but he wasn’t quite sure what that meant or what that entailed. Granted, one of the cases this week had gone a bit south with Sherlock winding up in the hospital with a head wound and Donovan getting a broken arm, but the culprits had been caught and his superiors hadn’t given him any flack for it. Surely if he were getting canned then one of them would’ve told him. Was he being offered a promotion? 

_ Doubtful _ . 

The car pulled up to a restaurant Greg had never even heard of before and certainly couldn’t pronounce the name of without sounding like a blundering idiot. He glanced back at his silent companion but she was still on her phone, furiously texting away. Taking that as his cue, he opened the door before the driver could have a chance to and approached the restaurant. Foreign jazz music drifted out as a sharply dressed waiter opened the door for him. 

“Welcome, Detective Inspector. He is waiting for you.”

_ Is everyone in London in on this but me?  _

Greg nodded in return and followed the man through the dimly lit restaurant, noticing that the placement of the tables made it difficult for him to fully take in anyone’s faces as he moved across the floor. The waiter certainly didn’t give him the time to try and recognize anyone either - within 30 seconds of entering the restaurant, Greg was ushered to a secluded room towards the back of the restaurant with only one table inside. Two chairs sat at the table but his companion’s was empty. He directed his attention to the glass of water in front of him and thought,  _ Even if he doesn't mean me any ill will, there's no guarantee he won't try and drug me to retrieve information.  _ Greg eyed the glass suspiciously for a moment before slowly lifting it to sniff it. He didn’t have Sherlock’s keen sense of...well,  _ everything  _ and he couldn’t be too sure if it had been spiked or not. 

The door of the secluded room suddenly opened and Greg quickly put the glass down, standing to greet who he hoped was his host. In walked a man of roughly six feet who wore a pinstripe suit with a plum tie and matching pocket square. His brown hair was short and styled back and when he spoke, his voice held a practiced air of formality that reeked of importance.

“Detective Inspector. Thank you for coming to meet with me.” He moved closer to the table and held out his hand for Greg to shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Greg shook the man’s hand and they moved to take their seats. 

“The pheasant here is exquisite," the man offered, not moving in the slightest to signal a waiter.   


_ And probably costs a year’s salary.  _ Greg’s gaze wandered over the man, trying to pinpoint anything of note that might give him a clue as to who his companion was but he came up empty. The posh voice oozed with the temperament of a man who loved showing off his wealth and influence to others. Greg had dealt with guys like this before and he had never been won over by food or riches. With any luck, this meeting would be boring and he'd be able to get home and finish watching whatever was left of the match.  


“I’m sorry, but I’d rather just find out who you are and what you want and return home rather than stay for a meal.”

The man gave a half-smile. His grey eyes left Greg wondering what he was thinking. 

“I’m curious as to the nature of your relationship with Sherlock Holmes.” 

Greg felt his heart miss a beat as he shifted to sit a bit straighter. Whenever one of his superiors tended to bring up Sherlock, things got rather tense and heated. But, judging from the seal from the email, this man outranked all of them. With all the politeness his mother had taught him, Greg asked, “And what business is that of yours?”

“Your superiors view him as a security threat to your precinct.”

Greg didn’t know whether to feel tired or annoyed.  _ Some combination of the two, I suppose.  _ “I believe in him.”

“Hm,” the man replied skeptically, giving Greg a piercing look. “You have vouched for him several times within the last week alone. Tell me, Detective Inspector, why do you have him brought in on cases against the better judgement of your superiors?” 

“Because we need him.” This was a fight Greg had had many times before but not with this man...not with this stranger. “Sherlock’s brilliant and responsible for saving more lives than I can count without having the files in front of me.”

“Some of your colleagues fear him to be a villain.”

“A villain who regularly has to have his cocaine stash taken away from him like a child’s toy?” Greg scoffed. “I know the rumors and the whisperings but they’re nothing but wash.”

The man tilted his head slightly. “I find it intriguing how quickly you ‘go to bat’ for him. My understanding is that he takes cases based upon a selfish level of interest. He doesn’t see you as a friend.”

“I know he doesn’t.”

The man’s eyebrow lifted. “Then why vouch for him?”

“Because he’s a good man who is good at protecting London.”

They seemed to study one another for a moment before something in the man’s expression shifted -  _ barely  _ but it was there. “I believe you have let your feelings of companionship distract you from seeing the true danger that Sherlock Holmes can be if left to his own devices.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “The only danger Sherlock Holmes brings about is to himself.” 

“Well then it’s a good thing he has the doctor and you looking out for him, otherwise I am sure he would’ve met his ruin years ago.”

As if on cue, the door opened again but it was just the waiter, bringing them two plates of food. Greg guessed his mysterious companion had taken the liberty of ordering for the both of them before he had even arrived. The waiter set down a plate that Greg assumed was the ‘exquisite pheasant’ his companion had mentioned earlier, along with a glass of wine and the bottle. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t recognize the label on the bottle either, although it had been some time since he had drank anything fancy. The last time he had shared an expensive bottle with someone had probably been with his estranged wife. 

_ Well that’s a sobering thought _ . The waiter left and it was just Greg and the mystery man once more. He thought about rejecting the food but his stomach growled loudly, giving him away. 

“If this is meant to poison or harm me in some elaborate quest for you to get to Sherlock, I’ll have you know that he’d sooner leave me to the wolves than rush to my aid,” Greg muttered as he picked up his silverware. “Although, if I’m being honest here, I’d much prefer a shot between the eyes than choking to death on a meal.”

His companion blinked slowly at him. “I assure you, Detective Inspector, I am not here to harm you. Nor am I here to blackmail you.” 

“Well. That’s reassuring.” He cut off a piece of the bird and lifted to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Never had pheasant. It’s not bad if I live through it.”

His companion smiled outright at that. “I told you.”

They ate in silence for a bit, Greg wondering all the while whether or not he’d actually be able to return home in one piece or not, until he asked, “So. Sherlock.”

“Hm.”

“Are you here to tell me to stop letting him in on cases?”

“No.”

Greg blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“But you said yourself he’s dangerous.”

The man took a delicate sip from his wine glass. “I’m inclined to agree with you on your earlier proclamations. Sherlock is, quite arguably, most dangerous to himself... _ and  _ to those who are foolish enough to befriend him.” 

Greg stilled. “What do you mean?”

The man looked away from him and down at the bottle. “Sherlock has never been one to maintain friendships for very long. He has a habit of pushing those closest to him away or having horrible things happen to them. He will gain enemies, if he hasn’t done so already, and I wonder which of the two will bring about your downfall.” The man’s gaze flickered to meet his from beneath his lashes. “Is Sherlock Holmes worth dying for, Detective Inspector? Is he worth risking everything you’ve worked so hard to attain?” 

“Yes.” The answer came emphatically.   


The man was quiet for a minute and then he started to laugh. The sound surprised Greg and clawed at the tension that had risen between them. When his eyes found Greg’s again, they were full of mirth, the first real evidence of emotion. “So loyal. So  _ honest _ . Either you’re equally as unstable as my brother is or you’re genuinely a good man. I’m not sure which is worse.”

Greg couldn’t help but smirk. “I'm sure you've read my file. Me? Unstable? Absolutely.” He went to take another bite. Suddenly, he felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under him and he quickly looked up to meet the man’s amused gaze with his own shocked eyes. “Brother?”

“Mycroft Holmes, at your service.”

\--- 

“What was he like, sir?”

Mycroft didn’t exactly 'startle' out of his thoughts but he did reply quickly with, “You drove him. You should know.”

Anthea bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. “I was wondering what you thought of him, sir.”

“Hm.” Mycroft really didn’t know  _ what  _ to think. Similarly to the first time he met Doctor Watson, the instantaneous and genuine  _ devotion  _ Lestrade had showed in wanting to protect and stand up for Sherlock was something to behold. It had been somewhat expected but still nagged at Mycroft’s mind. The  _ fire  _ that had burned in those eyes at the suggestion that Sherlock would be his downfall - the  _ frustration  _ at possibly being told by someone he wouldn’t be able to defy to stop involving himself with Sherlock.

It was endearing.   


Lestrade was indeed a good friend to his brother. And a good man.

Without replying to Anthea, Mycroft took out his phone and sent a text to his brother.

**M: You are incredibly blessed to have those who do not deserve you remain loyal to you through all your nonsense, dear brother.**

The reply text came instantly. 

**S: Mighty self-righteous of you to openly talk about yourself like that.**

**M: I meant Detective Inspector Lestrade.**

Mycroft watched the streets of London pass by and ignored his brother’s reply text. He wondered how long it would take before he met Lestrade in the field.

He hoped it wouldn’t be too long.

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant? Not in my lobby
> 
> You can send me prompts at swankaliciouschekov.tumblr.com


End file.
